


you're a ticking time bomb, darling

by tinymark (lumoon33)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, MMMMMMMMMMMMM, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, that's literally all about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:47:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24109234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumoon33/pseuds/tinymark
Summary: He can’t even figure out how they’ve ended up like this: he’s got Haechan pinned against his bedroom door, trapped between the wood and Mark’s chest.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 21
Kudos: 619





	you're a ticking time bomb, darling

**Author's Note:**

> mmmmmmm so, the thing is i have like a million markhyuck fic ideas that have no actual plot and i have No Time to try to develop them at the moment. BUT even if i dont have the time i still wanna write about them so bad. so here's this plotless thing that wouldn't fit in any of my other ideas and since ive already written it down i guess yall can have it.  
> i'm not really into pwp,,, i haven't written anything like this in YEARS, so i'm sorry if it's not that good.
> 
> anyway!!! i hope u enjoy it and im sorry for any mistakes u can find, english isn't my first language xxx

There’s something about Haechan that pulls Mark in like a magnet. It’s been like this since they first met, when they saw each other for the first time, chubby cheeks and short legs and scrawny bodies. Mark felt this tug in his gut, something so warm and gentle pulling him in, in, in.

He is like a galaxy built up around Haechan, gravity dragging him without mercy. He’s always spinning around him, needy and out of breath and filled up with a million tiny stars that scream for attention.

Mark has tried to stop himself, before. He writhes and pulls back and runs away, but Haechan seems to be drawn to him with the same kind of force, and they always end up colliding in a way or another. Unstoppable and inevitable.

It is suffocating, the force of it. The feeling so raw and pure and hot, it burns everything inside of Mark, leaves him cracked open, the palms of his hands clammy and yearning.

He can’t even figure out how they’ve ended up like this: he’s got Haechan pinned against his bedroom door, trapped between the wood and Mark’s chest. There’s a blush high in his cheeks, looks almost cherry red over his tan skin. His bottom lip is pinched between his teeth, the skin dark pink and peeled open for the number of times he’s chewed on it. His brown eyes are half-lidded, and they follow the movement of Mark’s hand as he slides his fingertips over the wood, looking for the lock blindly because he refuses to tear his gaze away from Haechan’s face.

Once the door is locked, Mark finally gets his hands on him. He fists his fingers on his shirt, at the sides of his hips, his knuckles go white with how hard he’s twisting the fabric. He doesn’t really know what to do, doesn’t know how to act, as he looks into Haechan’s eyes, bright with expectation.

They’ve been this close before, but not like _this_. The tension between them is so thick, Mark can feel it over his skin, raising goosebumps all over his arms. His throat feels swollen, ears clogged and heart bumping frantically behind his eyes. And he hasn’t done _anything_ yet.

He swallows hard as he starts to move his fingers, railing Haechan’s shirt up just enough to slip his right hand underneath, his knuckles pressed up against the soft flesh of his belly. Haechan’s eyes widen, his bottom lip slides out from between his teeth in a silent sigh. Mark wants to lean down and bite it, scratch it, smooth it out with his own tongue afterward.

But he doesn’t. He keeps his eyes locked into Haechan’s as he moves his hand lower, slips his fingers past the waistband of his pants and underwear, and stays there, breathing hard through his nose. Haechan’s skin feels feverish to the touch, his belly recoiling under Mark’s knuckles as if they burn.

Haechan’s tongue peeks between his white teeth, he drags it over his upper lip, gets it all wet and slick, and then settles in the seam of his mouth, so pretty and tempting. Mark has to bite his own lips to stop himself from making an embarrassing sound. He doesn’t understand how he’s so worked up already, when they are barely touching each other, layers and layers of clothes between them. The space between their mouths feels like an abysm, but he’s so overwhelmed he can’t bring himself to lean down and erase it.

Then, there’s a hand on his upper arm, Haechan’s fingers curling around his biceps, tugging slightly, nails sinking in the skin there so slowly, as if he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

“Please,” he whispers as his grip tightens, his head tilted to the side, hips pushing off the door and against Mark’s hand impatiently, almost desperately.

It’s the need, so evident and bare in Haechan’s eyes, what makes Mark push past the fear curling in his stomach and focus on the scorching want that’s running through his veins, setting his cheeks on fire.

He takes a shuddering breath as he slips his hand further down Haechan’s underwear, curls his fingers around his length, already semi-hard just from this, from standing in front of each other, just a few centimeters between their chests.

Haechan’s eyes fall shut and he makes a whiny noise in the back of his throat, loud and strangled and so damn beautiful. Mark starts to move his hand tentatively, he goes slow, with a loose grip. He doesn’t want it to get too much too fast, he wants to explore this new thing between them for as long as he can, drag it out.

Haechan turns his head as Mark starts to move, his eyes still screwed shut and his cheek pressed flat against the wood of the door as if he’s trying to hide his expression. Mark can’t handle it, if they are truly going to do this for the first time, he doesn’t want to miss anything. He wants to commit every reaction to memory, explore what the other boy likes and what he doesn’t, store it in his mind for the future.

So he leans closer, he tightens his grip a little bit and moves his other hand to Haechan’s hair. He brushes the long strands off his face, tangles his fingers in them, and pulls. Haechan’s mouth falls open in a gasp, his back arching as he snaps his eyes open and looks at Mark, his gaze glossed over, almost dizzy.

“Here,” Mark whispers, and he’s surprised at how low his voice sounds, rough with longing. “Eyes on me,” he says as he leans their foreheads together, breathing heavily into Haechan’s open mouth. 

A moan makes its way out of Haechan’s lips, so high pitched with want. He starts to move his hips into Mark’s hand, urging him to move faster as he curls an arm around his back, slips his hand under Mark’s shirt and drags his fingers all the way up to his shoulder blade.

Mark’s grip gets firmer as he gains confidence. It’s still slow, but he’s falling into a rhythm, eyes fixed on Haechan’s face, on the way he sucks on his own bottom lip to try to stop the moans, but keeps failing to hold back. On the way his eyebrows scrunch up whenever Mark tightens his hold on the base of his length. On the way Haechan keeps his hooded, glossy eyes focused on Mark’s face, as he’s been told, heavy with such raw want.

Mark feels privileged for getting the chance to look at him like this, so exposed and vulnerable. He feels overpowered by the fact that he has this much effect on Haechan, this power over him. He’s overwhelmed by the way Haechan trusts him, so openly and unconditionally, as if he can’t help himself.

Mark trembles with the intensity of it all. Haechan is so hot in his hand, already slick and throbbing. He drops his head against Haechan’s shoulder, takes a look down, and the sight almost knocks the breath out of him. He can’t even _see_ anything, the fabric covers it all. But just the bump in Haechan’s pants, the motion of his own hand moving inside, the wet spot forming in the front of his sweatpants; it all feels like too much. He kind of regrets not getting him out of his clothes, because he’d love to get a view at Haechan disappearing between his fingers, coming undone under his pads. Just the thought of it has him shaking, sweat forming in the back of his neck and his temples as desire burns hotter and hotter in the pit of his stomach.

Mark’s breath gets stuck in his throat and a needy groan tumbles out of his lips before he can stop himself. He noses at Haechan’s neck as he presses his body as close as he can without stopping his hand. He hadn’t even realized he was already hard, he didn’t think he could get this turned on just from touching someone else. But he’s so desperate for some kind of friction, his movements are starting to get sloppy.

It’s as if Haechan doesn’t need words to understand him, as if he’s so deeply intertwined with Mark he can read everything on the lines of his body. Suddenly, he’s sneaking an arm around Mark’s lower back as he spreads his legs _for him_ , getting him so close up against him, close enough for Mark to grind against Haechan’s hip. He has to bite down on the feverish skin of Haechan’s neck to silence a whimper of pleasure.

It’s getting fast now, messy. Mark keeps a frantic rhythm in his hand, dragging his fingers over Haechan’s skin as fast as he can, his palm slick with precome. Haechan moves with him, tiny breathless moans rolling off his tongue, fingers digging into Mark’s waist to help him rut against him.

When Mark pulls back to try to lock their eyes together again, he thinks the way Haechan looks could be enough to take him over the edge. His hair is already damp with sweat, droplets painting his temples, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. The flush on his cheeks has spread down his neck, to his chest, sneaking under his shirt. He’s looking back at Mark with round eyes, glistering with bliss and something else, something so close to adoration Mark thinks he’s going to drown in it.

Then, Mark twists his grip on Haechan’s length, flips the pad of his thumb over the head, pressing down against the slit, the way he likes it when he’s doing it to himself. The reaction is so visible and unashamed, it makes Mark growl. Haechan’s chest swells, he rolls his body incredibly closer to Mark, pushing against him so needy and desperate, his head falling back against the door as he swallows hard.

Mark is mesmerized by the view in front of him. He disentangles his fingers from Haechan’s hair, his hand travels down, caressing his face with such tenderness, such contrast to the fast, rash movements of his other hand. He curls his fingers around the back of Haechan’s neck, dips his thumb into the hollow where his collarbones meet. And then he’s leaning down, collecting drops of sweat with his tongue, pressing his lips to Haechan’s Adam’s apple, sinking his teeth around the mole there, sucking hard.

When Haechan comes, Mark feels it everywhere. Against his lips, in the way his throat vibrates with the whimpers he can’t stop. Over his hips, with the way Haechan digs his fingers in the flesh there, almost painfully, nails lifting skin. Against his ribs, with the way Haechan curls up his back, their chests pressing up together impossibly close. In his ears, Mark’s name rolling of Haechan’s tongue, panting and high pitched. And over his hand, with the way he spills all over Mark’s fingers, hot and sticky. Mark strokes him through it, tight and merciless, his tongue lapping over the teeth marks he’s left around the mole in Haechan’s neck.

Mark is still painfully hard, and he can’t even get his hand out of Haechan’s pants. He just grips at his thigh with desperate stained fingers as he presses his nose against Haechan’s overheated cheek, whining in desperation.

“C’mon,” Haechan mumbles into his ear, as he guides Mark to help him rut in the hollow of his hip. He sounds blissed out, so worn out, as he keeps mumbling encouraging words with a hoarse voice. Then, he’s sneaking his hands down Mark’s pants, squeezing through the fabric of his underwear as he helps him move faster. And Mark can’t help it, warmth blooms in his stomach, spreads all over the back of his thighs, up his sweaty spine. He’s coming into his pants, completely untouched, raw and grinding down carelessly like a teenager, shaky legs and mouth open, lips in the shape of Haechan’s name.

Mark would feel embarrassed if he wasn’t so thoroughly content right now. Haechan is still breathing heavily into his ear, one of his hands in the back of Mark’s head, scratching at his scalp gently, patiently, as if he is waiting for Mark to be ready to stop hiding in the crook of his neck. And Mark feels so damn full all of a sudden.

He finally pulls away, just enough to take his hand out of Haechan’s underwear mumbling, “gross,” as he tries to rub it clean against his own pants, because, honestly, who cares anymore. He can feel Haechan staring at him, his hands still around Mark’s shoulders, still petting his hair. If he wasn't already crimson red, he’d be blushing like crazy right now.

It’s ridiculous, to get shy only by Haechan’s eyes on him after what they’ve just done, after what he’s just done _to_ Heachan. But the mix of bliss and embarrassment and _fullness_ in his chest is so overwhelming he can’t help it. He hides in the crook of Haechan’s neck again, breathing him in deeply through his nose as he hugs him close. He smells like sweat and sex and _Mark_. A little whine crawls up his throat before he can stop it.

Haechan just giggles above him, and Mark can feel his cheek pressing against his head.

“Next time, I hope you can at least get us out of our pants,” he says, his voice still hoarse, but bright with happiness, “Wanna feel you too.”

Mark just hugs him closer, groans low in his throat and presses his smile against the side of Haechan’s neck. His head set up like a broken record: _next time, next time, next time_.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading!! kudos and comments are much appreciated <3
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/tiniemarks) // [cc](https://curiouscat.me/tiniesung)


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